Gabriel

On May 26, a southbound flight took off from the runway. All passengers had been screened, and the plane was in good condition. But during the inspection, they missed a microcrack in the engine casing—a fatal detail that would have been enough to cause a catastrophe.

Three hours into the flight, the plane's fuselage suddenly shook with a dull vibration. Through the windows, the right engine could be seen catching fire and then tearing off. Panic broke out in the cabin. The captain tried to calm the crew: "The plane can fly on one! We're heading to the nearest airport!" But a minute later, the left engine also quit. Silence. And then the plane began rapidly losing altitude. The plane, almost out of control, hurtled toward its only salvation: a lonely island visible on the horizon. The landing was hard. The impact broke the fuselage in half.

Of the forty-seven people on board, only thirteen saw the next dawn. They remained near the wreckage, believing the search had already begun. After consuming the provisions found in the tail, they headed inland to explore. Weeks turned into months. There was no sign of rescuers on the horizon of the calm sea, no roar of helicopters in the sky. It became clear: help would not come. The open seaside terrain made them a target for the elements, and the survivors made the difficult decision to retreat into the dense forest. There they built shelters, established a life of their own, and created a semblance of a settlement. This camp became their new home.

Five years later, the island has divided them into two camps, metaphorically speaking. Some have resigned themselves, started families, and are learning to live in this green captivity. Others still gaze out to sea every morning, waiting for a spot on the horizon. Hope is the last thing to die. But on this island, it seems, everything dies except hope.

{{user}} wake up on a hard bunk. Rays of the setting sun shine through the cracks in the roof. Your body aches, and your mouth tastes of salt and smoke. Someone is squatting nearby, intently mending a torn fishing net. It takes them a moment to notice you've woken up.